


Cold Snap

by HamishMcCat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 23:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishMcCat/pseuds/HamishMcCat
Summary: When Aziraphale got into his reading, he got a bit tunnel-visioned. He had eyes only for his literature. Being an ethereal being, he had the luxury of allowing the written word to consume him as long as he needed. He did not need to eat, breathe, or sleep. He did not feel cold if he was not paying attention to it. He could summon all the light he needed to read by without needing to switch on a lamp. He became oblivious to his surroundings. Therefore, he did not notice when there was a brief power cut caused the thermostat in the bookshop to turn off. He did not notice that after the power was restored, the thermostat would not turn back on without intervention. He did not notice the temperature dropping rapidly in the naturally drafty old bookshop. And he did not notice, from his perch at the front counter of the shop, that there was no longer the form of a demon sleeping on the backroom couch.





	Cold Snap

The cold snap that winter had hit London hard. The temperature had dipped well into the negatives. Politicians and climate change deniers were arguing about “global warming” not existing in the face of all this cold. 

While the weather was the absolute talk of the town, a certain Soho bookseller was completely oblivious to the plunging temperature. 

Aziraphale normally would have noticed, but yesterday Crowley had presented him with a particularly beautiful signed, first edition copy of Voltaire’s  _ Candide _ . Aziraphale had begun a reread almost immediately, leaving Crowley to his own entertainment (napping on the backroom couch) for the evening. Unfortunately it was slow going. Despite knowing numerous languages, French had never been Aziraphale's strongest. 

When Aziraphale got into his reading, he got a bit tunnel-visioned. He had eyes only for his literature. Being an ethereal being, he had the luxury of allowing the written word to consume him as long as he needed. He did not need to eat, breathe, or sleep. He did not feel cold if he was not paying attention to it. He could summon all the light he needed to read by without needing to switch on a lamp. He became oblivious to his surroundings. Therefore, he did not notice when there was a brief power cut caused the thermostat in the bookshop to turn off. He did not notice that after the power was restored, the thermostat would not turn back on without intervention. He did not notice the temperature dropping rapidly in the naturally drafty old bookshop. And he did not notice, from his perch at the front counter of the shop, that there was no longer the form of a demon sleeping on the backroom couch. 

Aziraphale was broken from his literature-induced stupor by a sharp knock at the door. He was about to shout out that the shop was closed, when he looked up and realized the light in the shop had shifted. It was morning. The next morning. Anathema and Newt had been planning to come for a visit. With a quick flick of the wrist, the bookshop door unlocked and opened. 

“Come in, come in, my dears.” Aziraphale called. 

Anathema and Newt, decked in scarves, hats, gloves, and parkas entered, ready to be treated to the warmth of the usually cozy bookshop.

“Oh my! I think it is colder in here than outside!” exclaimed Anathema, her breath visible in the frigid air. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale, still coming out of his book daze, allowed himself to feel his surroundings and gasped. 

“Oh! I...I didn't realize.” The only thought now occupying his mind was Crowley. Crowley had been in the shop when he started reading. Crowley hated when it was this cold. It made him sluggish at best. Had he left? He would usually rouse Aziraphale out of his reading enough to make his goodbyes. 

Aziraphale reached out, trying to feel if the demon was near. He was. He was still in the shop. Aziraphale's eyes darted to the backroom couch, but it was empty. 

“Where? Where did you go? You're here, but…” Aziraphale began muttering. 

Anathema and Newt, still bundled, looked on as the angel began scurrying about the shop, mumbling to himself. 

“What are you looking for? We could help you lo…” Newt was offering helpfully when he was cut off by a relieved “Ahhhhhhh!” from Aziraphale.

The angel had come to a halt in front of a mass of tartan blankets bundled up in front of an old hearth in the backroom. There had been a roaring fire in it last night, but it had burned itself down to barely an ember. Aziraphale knelt down in front of the bundle and gently lifted the fabric, revealing the head and tightly coiled body of a giant red bellied black snake. 

Newt and Anathema watched opened-mouthed as Aziraphale gently stroked the head of the snake. 

“Oh, love, I'm so sorry. I had no idea how cold it had gotten.” The snake drowsily opened its eyes and stared at Aziraphale. “You were asleep when it got so cold, weren't you?” The snake nodded. “Natural instincts kicked in, eh, my dear?” Another lazy nod. 

“Come on then, let's get you warm.” Aziraphale held his palm out, just under the snake’s chin. The snake coiled its way up Aziraphale's arm, over his shoulders, around his torso, finally settling with its head nuzzled in the angel's neck, body coiled all around his shoulders and middle, and tail wrapped around his leg. The weight of the large creature didn't seem to phase Aziraphale in the least as he nimbly stood up and snapped his finger at the hearth, causing a roaring blaze to spark to life. He also snapped the thermostat back into business. 

“Um...aren't those snakes venomous?” Asked Newt.

“Oh, rather,” was the calm reply from Aziraphale as he carefully settled into his armchair which he moved as close to the hearth as possible. The snake seemed to perk up in the presence of the heat. Its golden yellow eyes were now open and alert and following the conversation. 

“And...and you keep one? As a pet?” Asked Newt, incredulously.

The snake hissed in response. Aziraphale scoffed and coughed. He seemed to be trying to hold back a full laugh. He scratched under the snake’s chin with affection. “I would  _ never  _ call him that. He  _ would  _ bite me if I did. Anathema, can you be a dear and hand me that coffee mug?”

Anathema picked up the black winged mug from the side table, the mirror twin of Aziraphale’s favorite, and handed it to him. The black coffee had been sitting since last night and had become ice cold. Aziraphale took the mug in both hands and focused on it. In a few seconds, steam began to rise from the dark beverage. 

“Here, my dear, this should help.” He held the mug up to the snake’s head at his shoulder. The snake dipped his head into the mug and began to drink. 

Newt really should have been used to all these unearthly occurrences. After all, it had been 6 months since Dooms Didn't, but the image of a large snake, wrapped around this innocuous-looking bookseller, drinking black coffee from a mug just did not compute in Newt’s oh so human brain. 

Anathema’s witch brain on the other hand could see the aura of the snake and recognized it. That witch brain of hers was also remembering Aziraphale's words on the Tadfield airbase and connections clicked into place.  _ Ah, okay, so, in the beginning, in the Garden, there was, well, he was a wily old serpent and I was technically on apple tree duty… _

“Is he going to be okay?” She asked Aziraphale. 

“Oh, yes, just got a bit cold. In fact, he should be fine now. He's just being melodramatic at this point.” Aziraphale looked pointedly at the snake, who looked back at him and hissed. Newt could have sworn the hiss sounded like “Am not.”

“Yes you are. I know I radiate enough heavenly warmth that you are probably warmer than you've been in weeks. Now come on my dear, we promised Anathema and Newt that we would take them to breakfast, and we can not go out with you in this state.” And he added with a pout and puppy dog eyes that he knew the demon could never resist, “I'm hungry.”

The golden snake eyes held the angelic blue eyes in a wordless standoff. The snake, inevitably, broke first. Crowley had never been able to refuse Aziraphale anything for long. Another hiss which sounded remarkably like “Fine” to Newt’s ears. 

Aziraphale stood up and extended his arm to the coffee table so the snake could slither onto it. But the snake didn't move. 

“Really, Crowley, you stubborn serpent, you are being ridiculous.” Aziraphale chided, but the transformation had already begun. The serpent coiled around the angel transformed into a demon coiled around the angel. Crowley’s face was still nuzzled into Aziraphale's neck, his chest against the angel’s back, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other around his chest. One leg was wrapped around Aziraphale's middle and the other long limb was twisted around Aziraphale's leg. 

Newt flopped on the couch, staring unabashedly opened-mouthed at the sight.

“Anthony... Anthony is a snake?” Newt managed to stutter out. 

“Serpent of Eden, in the flesh.” Crowley provided with smirk. Newt’s human brain was completely short circuiting at this point. 

Anathema began to wonder to herself if it would be too forward in this budding friendship to ask for demonic snake venom for her birthday.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley, unaffected by the change of weight distribution on his back. Crowley smiled a toothy, oh so innocent smile at Aziraphale, all of his limbs tightening their grips on his perch. 

“So, breakfast?” Crowley asked of the group. “I’m thinking Dishoom.”

“Are we really doing this?” Asked Aziraphale with a glare. 

“You know, it is record breaking temperatures out there Crowley, you're probably going to want to put on a coat or something.” Anathema offered. Aziraphale's eyes were full of thanks to her. 

But Crowley only shook his head. “Angel’s warmer than any coat.” He nuzzled his face in Aziraphale's neck and tightened his grip again. 

“Fine. I'm not going hungry, nor am I going to allow our guests to go hungry, because you're being stubborn.” He straightened his already perfect posture, tugged on his mussed waistcoat, and headed towards the door. “But if no taxi will take us and the restaurant refuses to serve us, it will be all your fault.”

Crowley grinned in absolute triumph. “Oh, somehow I don't think any of that will be a problem.” He quietly snapped his fingers. 

Aziraphale sighed, resigned. “Anathema, can you grab our coats from the coat rack, we  _ will  _ need them later, and Newt, can you hail us a taxi?” 

This was going to be an interesting breakfast. 

  
  
  



End file.
